


Burgundy

by ditrex



Series: Silly One-Shots [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, a happy bday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 22:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11068203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ditrex/pseuds/ditrex
Summary: Her heart beats loudly, thudding along with her footsteps as she leads you to the bathroom."Here. I bought bleach, and like four kinds of hair dye. My life is in your hands."Your eyes light up.





	Burgundy

She kept it in her veins and held it higher than she ever had the right to. It thudded loudly in her heart.  
Her eyes.  
Her mind.  
“I really don’t think I should trust you with this.” She spoke, her voice smooth and sweet. It’s joking, but worried. You gaze down at the bowl of burgundy. The rust red colour in your violet gloved hands.  
“You don’t trust me. With hair. I’m offended, Ar, I really am.” You scoff.  
You contain violet. It’s higher than her.  
So very high.  
But she holds her burgundy higher.  
“Well excuse me for not wanting a man who can’t see to permanently alter the colour of my hair.”  
“I can see fine, shut the fuck up.”  
“Your glasses are like, ten inches thick. If only that were the case with your-“  
“Ar.”  
She laughs her burgundy laugh. It’s a noise that makes you flush violet, and it makes your heart beat red.  
“Just let me dye your fuckin’ hair, Jesus Christ.”  
She hums, nodding her head. “Fine. Have at it, fish boy.” She tells you, and in a flash the tangled mess of black is before you, trusting and ready.  
“If you fuck this up, I will break your jaw.”  
Maybe not trusting. But certainly- albeit reluctantly- obedient. Like burgundy should be. Yet she is far from obedient in nature. She listens to no man. From fuchsia to chocolate, indigo to teal. They don’t matter to her. Yet you matter to her. Your violet veins are tied around her little burgundy finger. She controls every inch of your being with her confident words, her powerful movements, and her stunning being.  
You dip your brush into the creamy looking peroxide bleach, applying it to the thick curls of her hair.  
“This better not get me murdered.” She warns you, eyes to the floor. She’s nervous. You kiss the top of her head, shushing her. “Anyone gives you shit for this, an’ I’ll tear off their fingers.” You promise. No one could hurt her for her colour. You wouldn’t allow it.  
“Oh, please.” She snorts. “You couldn’t hurt a bug.”  
“I’m an orphaner?”  
“You’re a big sap.” She purrs condescendingly, looking up to catch your gaze. You frown. She pecks your check, causing your expression to soften against your will. She laughs, and once again you begin to paint the black out of the tips of her hair.  
White blonde replaces the black that once took its place, a colour you quickly replace with her own. It bleeds up into the black, curling over her shoulder blades. You fill it with her rust red.  
“So?” you ask, putting her in front of a mirror only once the procedure is done. “Am I the best, or am I the best?”  
She examines it, nodding to herself.  
“Okay. You’re the best. I have to admit, it looks pretty good.”  
“Course it does. I did it.” you boast, gladly accepting her into your arms as she moved up to you. You peck her burgundy lips. She’s warm.


End file.
